


Laughter

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bedsharing, F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, FitzSimmons is canon biatch, Fluff, fake couple, insp 3x18 promo pics, post 3x17, that is also a real couple, undercover couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 23:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6631288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FitzSimmons go undercover and share a bed. Fluff ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laughter

**Author's Note:**

> I finally wrote a bedsharing fic - like an 'oh look there's only one bed' bedsharing fic. Yay! I am an emotionally compromised young adult shipper. Enjoy.
> 
> Kisses: come to/stay in bed, & fall asleep together kisses. laughing kisses.

“There’s only one bed.”

“Well of course there is. We’re supposed to be a couple.” Simmons grinned, and bit her lip. They _were_ a couple. Had been for almost twenty-four hours, in fact. 

Fitz smiled back, and sat down on the end of the bed. 

“Oh, wow,” he moaned, lying back and sinking into it. “This is really good. Come here.” 

 _Gladly,_ Simmons thought, and sprung across the room and onto the bed – only to find, Fitz had already closed his eyes. She kissed him, so that he would open them, and she felt that flutter in her chest at the adoration in his gaze.

“So should I take the couch?” he offered. “Or..?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You look so tired, it would be positively criminal to make you get up now. Besides, there’s plenty of room in this bed for the both of us.”

Curled up against his chest, she realised she was settling too. Well, if he was to have his legs hanging off the end and she was to have nothing covering her shoulders all night, she’d still take that. 

“No, it’s okay.” With considerable effort and reluctance, Fitz rolled back into a sitting position, gently setting Jemma aside. He groaned and stood up, taking off his belt.

“Fitz.” She scowled at him. “Get in the bed. Now.” 

“Honestly, Jemma –“ 

“We used to share beds all the time. What makes this any different?”

“What-?” Fitz cast his eyes up to the ceiling. There was no way to describe the desires that swarmed through him, that made her question sound so much like an offer, without being improper. “Jemma – we’re _together_ now. It’s…different. It just is.”

“Mm, very sound theory from Doctor Fitz,” Simmons criticised. “Look, please come to bed, _I’ll_ take the couch, you deserve a break from that monster of a mattress you have.”

“They’re standard issue.” 

“Then they’re both as terrible as each other and we _both_ deserve a break. Either way.” Simmons shrugged and opened her hands in offering. At last, Fitz caved and crawled into the bed. (It really was so beautifully comfortable.) 

Simmons kissed him on the cheek and sprung off the bed, disappearing into the bathroom.

“Jemma!” Fitz gasped. “You are not taking the couch, don’t you dare!”

She laughed.

“Oh, don’t you worry.”

A few moments later, she reappeared in a loose-hanging shirt – _his shirt,_ he realised, and tried not to look too hard at the bra she was very much not wearing when the light shone through the material for a moment.

Focus became much easier when she switched off the light and slipped under the covers beside him. She held his hands, but kept the rest of her body angled away – there was, after all, plenty of space.

 _See?_ she wanted to point out, with just a slight, gentle tease. _We can control ourselves. We’re professionals, we’re adults, we’re taking our time._

But she didn’t feel like taking her time. Or professional. Or even like an adult, really. Her heart was hammering in her chest, so fast and loud she couldn’t speak. She felt giddy. Even though she was exhausted, and worried, and she knew they had a big day tomorrow as well, she couldn’t help feeling like she’d kiss him all night if he’d let her. All she had to do was close the distance. But she’d promised she wouldn’t. She’d made him sleep here, this close, on the promise that she wouldn’t. She clenched her teeth for a moment. She’d never wanted more to break a promise, but that didn’t mean she was about to cave. 

Meanwhile, Fitz had started drawing circles on her wrist with his thumb. His heart was racing and his hands were restless, and he had to calm down. Simmons had offered – had _insisted_ – that he share the bed and he wasn’t about to take advantage of that…even if he was having distinctly indecent second thoughts. If he closed his eyes, he could hear the source of her breathing. He could picture her shape, project where her hips would be in the dark, only so many inches from his fingertips.

“Fitz?” Simmons whispered. “Are you still awake?”

“Yeah,” he confessed. How could she not hear his heart? Maybe she could, and that’s why she’d asked.

“Can you move closer?”

Well, he was hardly going to object to that – or to the way she rolled toward him when he got too close, and pulled the mattress down. She giggled quietly, and neatened herself up.

“Sorry.”  
  
“No problem.” 

He could feel her breath on his face now. He could hear the way it quivered in and out of her chest. Slowing his pattern, he let his fingers linger at her pulse point, and bit his lip at a giddy grin when it turned out her heart was, or so it seemed, beating as fast as his was. 

“Jemma?” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to kiss?”

For the sake of her dignity, he decided not to acknowledge the slight, breathy squeal in the back of her throat that followed this request. But when she kissed him, he was grinning and unprepared. The kiss was sloppy, with a lot of teeth, and Simmons whined.

“Fitz! What are you doing?”

“Sorry.” 

They readjusted, but he couldn’t get control of his lips. With a huff, Simmons sat up, and brushed her hair out of her face. There was hardly any light in the room, but he knew her enough to know where he was looking – and it was slightly lower than he would willingly admit. As she leaned down to kiss him – again, properly, to recover control – Fitz took his chance and slid a hand up her thigh to rest at her hip.

She bit his lip, giggling, and fell over onto her side.

“Sorry!” Fitz whispered. “I was trying to be sexy, I swear.”

But now both of them had dark-and-stormy nights far from their minds, and as Fitz fumbled around in the blankets trying to find her, Simmons rolled and squirmed and giggled hysterically as she tried to take jabs at him back. He wasn’t nearly as ticklish as she was, but the fruitlessness of her efforts was having much the same effect.

When at last they collapsed, it was with Simmons splayed across Fitz’ chest with one hand in each of his, and both of them breathing heavy and smiling broadly.

“So.” Fitz panted. He wanted to ask _who won?_ but the more pressing question was, “do you still want to kiss?” 

Simmons closed her eyes. She could feel how hard she was smiling, her lips exposing all her teeth. It would be a shame to waste that, even for something as glorious as kissing. Not to mention, whenever she thought of kissing now, all she could think of was teeth and laughter.

“Never mind,” she sighed. “The moment’s gone. But stay here, I like this position better.”

She pulled their hands, together, until he was embracing her, and then closed her eyes, shuffled until she was comfortable, and let herself drift off to sleep. Fitz kissed the top of her head – the best of both worlds – and followed soon after, still thinking of kisses and laughter.


End file.
